


Fallen Snow

by DepressedPidgen



Series: Antarctica [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Eldritch Horror Dream, M/M, Olde God Technoblade, idk how to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27947882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DepressedPidgen/pseuds/DepressedPidgen
Summary: Dream in his long eternities of boredom searches the god of Antarctica
Relationships: Clay | Dream/Dave | Technoblade
Series: Antarctica [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057511
Comments: 44
Kudos: 563





	Fallen Snow

Dream is, for a lack of better word, an abomination of Nothing and Everything. A twisting amalgamation of primordial chaos and destruction tightly coiled under squirming human flesh, barely held back by the sallow straps of a bloodless mask. 

He doesn’t quite know how he came to be, only that one moment he wasn’t and the next he was. So that’s pretty neat he supposes. 

A majority of his life was spent wandering the empty desolate surface of the earth before the rains flooded it, his formless mass slithering between cracks of the planet. Dream doesn’t  _ think  _ of himself like those entities humans call gods; he doesn’t exist like them, much preferring traveling the planet than isolating himself in one domain or another. Starlight doesn’t drip out of his non-existent veins, he’s just ... built differently. 

Perhaps that was why he was quite taken with humans. He could see a little bit of himself in them. Their existence is barely a speck in the history of this world; in a sense, they too appeared inexplicably. Dream takes great joy in drifting among them, delighting in the fear directed towards whatever human he finds sufficiently fancy to nest within. Plus, they keep writing myths about what he actually is, each more absurd and grandiose than the last. It's the funniest shit he's ever read.

Dream likes to travel among the societies that humanity has set up. He finds great amusement in their bright lights and their funny little outfits. He’s traveled from the bottom of the sea and has even slithered among a crew headed to the  _ moon _ . What other entity of higher power can brag about completing such a feat? He could never understand why those stuffy little gods decide to hole themselves up in their pantheons, pretending their detachment to the mortals that worship them. 

But even as he travels, he finds himself … bored. Humans, while being the best species for Dream to possess, have never really changed in the millennia they have existed. Their lives are so unnecessarily short that nothing of note can happen for hundreds of years. Traveling gets so boring sometimes that he is forced to hole himself up in some crevasse of void for a couple hundred years hoping that  _ something _ might have changed in the meantime. 

It was through his travels that he stumbles upon a small religious group just north of the Antarctic worshiping a god so bygone, so powerful that their name has either been lost to the winds of time or that none has dared to utter it. 

This of course peaks his interest immediately and he sets out immediately in search of that god. Dream hears the tale of the god cloaked in red whose head was adorned with a most magnificent crown. Dream instantly wants to fight him and take that crown as his own to decorate his darkened locks. 

Dream has done many things in his existence but he’s never killed a god. He wants to take that crown and come back to establish those worshippers as his own. It’ll be a new and interesting experience. Dream may not be as physically strong as some of the other entities he’s met, but he's cunning and impossible to kill. It’s hard to kill Nothing and Everything after all. 

Dream doesn’t expect that the hunt will take long; it’s just a local land god. It shouldn’t be  _ too  _ hard to find them in the emptiness of the icy tundra where there is nowhere to hide.

Dream has never been more wrong in his life.

The god is  _ impossible _ to find. Dream had underestimated just how vast this tundra was and he paid for it.  _ Months  _ passed without even a glimpse of crimson cloth on the horizon. At this point Dream was desperate enough that he would have given anything to see even a flash of sunlight glinting off that fabled crown. 

Dream was not an entity known for his patience.

Fate reimburses him however by letting him meet the god head on. It was out of sheer god damn coincidence that he runs into them. The blizzard had cleared away in a devastating dance of snow and ice, standing under the now glaring sky was the prettiest thing Dream has ever seen in his long existence.

The god took the form of a young human male with hair as rosy as the sunset swaying around his ankles, caressed in the gentle hands of the antarctic zephyrs. His skin was as pale as the moon under an empty sky and a pair of eyes carved from the prettiest of gemstones, as red as the gemstone embedded in the splendid crown that adorned his pastel locks, like a halo framing his porcelain face.

How had nobody told Dream just how fucking beautiful the god was.

Well originally, Dream  _ had _ planned to kill the god to take his crown and domain as his own but fucking a god seems a better win. Dream shoves his hands into the pockets of his lime hoodie before twisting the smudges of his mask into what he hopes is a friendly smile as the god turns to stare at him. He stalks forward until he is standing directly in front of the god, much to his displeasure, his current body is just slightly shorter than the god in his gold plated boots. 

Dream introduces himself, tries for a seductive tone of how he came to the depths of Antarctica looking for a god whose beauty is unmatched by any living creature. Dream tries to wheedle a name out of the taciturn god before being pierced by the glacial sword in the god’s hand and slammed through the thick sheets of ice into the freezing rapids.

Dream quickly discards the dying body as they surge up to the surface, forced to resort to one of the spares that they stockpile within the void of their mass. He coughs and splutters as Dream pulls himself to the surface. Shame, Dream was quite fond of that one.

The silence is penetrated by the soft clack of the god’s heels and the silent swish of his furs as he leaves. This is the first in a long time that anyone has managed to destroy one of Dream’s bodies. Dream wonders if this was love at first sight.

So of course the next logical progression would be to pursue the god through the ice scape until the god has no other choice but to accept Dream’s advancements.

Dream continues to lose bodies from there on out. Every time he gets close to the god, he is mercilessly cut down by either the blade or ripped apart by his claws. Every time finding himself no closer to getting even a name. Dream grits his teeth, hoping even for a tiny upturn of those rosy lips or even a subtle shift of those furs to reveal just the slightest bit of skin.

Before long Dream is forced to back off to lick at the wounds of his pride and his stock of bodies run low. It's clear that his direct methods were not getting him any closer to his ultimate goal of bedding that pretty god. 

He decides to do some investigation into the offerings the worshipers were providing to the god. The religion seems to provide sacrifices of blood of whatever livestock, mainly the heart onto the altar erected for the god.

The next time he comes tête-à-tête with the god he thrust a still beating heart towards him, kept alive only by his power. The heart once belonged to the pastor of another religion, human hearts should taste better than any animal heart right? And somehow deep down Dream knows that the god would appreciate the sheer audacity. The offering halts the oncoming attack just enough that Dream isn’t forced to switch into another body. 

Dream stares into the god’s eyes through the holes of his mask relishing the slight surprise before it is covered up by a facade of interference. Dream watches eagerly as the god reaches out to gingerly take the offered heart, never breaking eye contact as sharp canines pierce the meat of the heart as it dies upon his lips. One final stutter drenches the god’s hands and lips in blood, a sharp contrast with white of his cravat and paleness of his skin.

Dream waits anxiously as the god judges his offering, “This is sufficient I suppose,” the god hums as he drops the remainder of the heart on the snow with a soft thump. Immediately staining the once pristine snow as red as the god’s eyes. 

The god’s voice comes out as an unholy clamor of abyssal noises but to Dream it comes out as sweet as morning dew. Dream hunches over with a laugh that overtakes his being, laughing at the audacity the asshole has after all the bullshit he’s pulled over him.

He doesn’t raise himself from his lowered position, instead, bending himself further by hunching over in a mock bow before bringing the god’s bloodied hand to his lips. He stares up at the amused visage of the god as he adjusts his mask to allow himself to lightly press his lips against the back of the god’s knuckles. An attempted imitation of the worship that humans do. 

“May I-I would like to know the name of the one I am worshiping,” Dream stares into the god’s eyes as he straightens from his previous position, never letting go of the god’s bloody hand in the process.

The god leans in close enough for Dream to taste the madness upon his breath as he exhales. A pale cheek brushing imperceptibly against the hard materials of his mask as the god mutters in a language that causes Dream’s nose to gush blood and an eardrum to fizzle uncomfortably. He makes out the name to be “Technoblade” just as the god steps back and turns to leave. 

Any protests dying on tongue as Technoblade turns, “Bring a Golden Apple next time,” he adds on before disappearing with the snowfall. 

Dream shakily brings his hand to smear the blood flowing from his nose, absentmindedly changing into his last body even as _ it’s _ eardrums burst.

Dream is far too giddy by the promise of a next time and envisioning of a day where twist his hands in the god’s rosy locks and drag his own name out of the god’s ruby lips.

But first, he needs to find a taller body.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just a mudfrog simp, I love their depictions of Dream and Technoblade as gods (debatable on Techno's part tho). The idea for this fic was inspired by like a bnha fic I read like last year. Please leave comments (^人^).


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